


Another Shot of Whiskey

by ThisHereNow



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, in which they're both emotionally in pain with neither of them able to give comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-13
Updated: 2012-11-13
Packaged: 2017-11-18 13:30:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisHereNow/pseuds/ThisHereNow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's quiet for a long while, Derek wonders what's taking Stiles so long to get dressed. Stiles is never one to sit still long enough to even blink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Shot of Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic on AO3 and my first fic written for the teen wolf fandom. I wrote it on a whim yesterday, and thought this to be the perfect place to put it. A good samaritan was nice enough to spare me an invite so... here it is, unbeta-ed and really, really short.

Derek doesn't pine. Werewolves aren't supposed to pine. He's a fucking bad-ass one at that and pining is simply unacceptable.

Yet there he is - perched on very familiar roof tiling, eyes closed, and sniffing. He smells toothpaste first, then soap and water clinging onto surfaces he doesn’t want to distract himself with right now. Borderline offensive body spray nearly overpowers what his senses are clamoring to get a hold of but it's there. He _knows_ it's there. And the moment it hits him, his muscles unclench and Derek takes his first decent breath since he arrived.

Stiles is sitting on his bed close to the window. The scent is stronger now: sweat and lead and too much energy and grass, mixed with something that is uniquely Stiles. He wonders if Scott or Isaac can smell Stiles the way he does. But then he thinks of tearing both of them apart at the idea.

It's quiet for a long while, Derek wonders what's taking Stiles so long to get dressed. Stiles is never one to sit still long enough to even blink. When he finally hears bare feet padding across the room, a good 15 minutes has passed. He hears the shuffling of fabric and what seems to be Stiles' towel dropping to the floor. It takes a lot of will not to let go and just jump into the bedroom and _claim_ , but he manages - barely.

He waits for the sound of drawers opening, but it doesn't come. It's quiet again, and he steadies his breathing. He focuses on Stiles' heartbeat, already on its way from a steady thump to rapid pounding. There's more shuffling, on the bed again this time, and Derek's eyes shoot open at the scent of arousal that hits him right in the gut.

Stiles is aroused. He just got naked and got back on the bed and he's... _Holy shit_.

Derek shifts into a better position on the roof, nose and ears as close to the window as possible without being discovered. It’s starting to get intoxicating and Stiles isn’t even touching himself yet. He can hear rustling, the faint crunching of fabric telling him Stiles is trying hard not to touch - the wide interval of breaths a contrast to the heavy pounding of Stiles’ heart.

_What is he afraid of?_

There’s a strangled moan from inside and Derek nearly loses his grip. It’s too much. Stiles’ arousal is too much and Stiles is actively trying not to do anything. The sheets continue to be ruffled - Derek hearing the slip and slide of Stiles’ legs and back as he writhes on the bed. The labored breathing is worse, and the moans are starting to sound like sobs. 

Stiles is definitely thrashing. Derek imagines him on his stomach, still clinging to the sheets but rubbing himself against the mattress. His moans are louder now, but muffled - he’s biting his pillow, sobbing into it. Derek is going to leave scratch marks on the roof but he doesn’t care. He’s hard as a freight train and he can only do so much without doing the stupidest thing he could possibly do, and help Stiles out.

Because Derek wants to be in there. He wants to be the one Stiles is thrashing against. He wants Stiles’ moans to be muffled by his lips. He wants Stiles to grip him hard enough to hurt - to scratch, to mark. He wants to mark Stiles, bite him in places only he can re-visit next time, then some out in the open so people would know to stay away. _Mine, mine, mine_ , he wants - needs - so badly.

He wants to wipe Stiles tears, kiss them away and tell him, _It’s okay_. 

There’s no use in trying to steady his breathing anymore. Stiles sounds hurt, he keeps on moving - grinding into the mattress, but he sounds like he’s fighting to get out of there and release is the only way out. It gives Derek pause, claws digging into the roof and teeth drawing blood from the inside of his cheek. 

Stiles comes with a scream to his pillow, _Fuck, Derek_ , and Derek comes, too. 

Derek almost escapes before Stiles starts to cry. 

Almost. 


End file.
